


Bad Aftertaste

by mercurybard



Series: Prison Break before the prison [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, Homophobic Language, POV First Person, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurybard/pseuds/mercurybard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Michael faces off in a verbal battle with his brother's latest sexual conquest. Michael wins, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Aftertaste

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break (no surprise there)

"Don't bother—I already took his wallet."

She jumped, which meant she didn't know I was in the room, which meant she wasn't blatantly opportunistic. However, since she didn't even bother to put her shirt or panties back on before trying to roll my brother for his $15.26 means I'm going to think of her as the Blatant Skank. Because, she needs a name, and Girl Who Needs to Learn to Take Her Bra Off Before Sex is just too long. Though, that might be Lincoln's fault. The more complex or weirdly placed bra clasps tend to stump him, according to Veronica, and girls get mad when you just break their bras to get into them, or so my brother tells me. I wouldn't know since I'm still a virgin. Though, I think I got to second base with Mindy Detweiler in a broom closet at the Episcopal church that one time. Or maybe it's third. I'm a little fuzzy on the distinctions between the bases, and if I ask Lincoln, he'll feel obligated to give me The Talk. As if I need to be told about the mechanics of sex and the importance of using a condom. For either, I can just walk into the living room and get a live demonstration from our current roommates.

Geez, you'd think I'd just pole-axed her or something from the look she's giving me. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Michael. You might want to close your mouth. The way you've got it hanging open makes you look like you've got an IQ of 5."

Now, Blatant Skank's got the presence of mind to try and cover herself, which is good because I really don't want to see her girly parts all out in the open and everything. Really. I just find it fascinating that her hair down there is almost black when the hair on her head's blond. That's why I'm staring, I swear.

I saw V's girly parts once. Her dad had hit her and split her scalp, and she'd come over to wash the blood out of her hair and cry before going home. The crying was done sitting naked on the bathroom floor, and I hadn't realized she was here until I walked in. She'd just wrapped herself in her wet towel and bawled into my shoulder while I crouched beside her, the front of my t-shirt getting soaked as I suddenly had the urge to get Magdalen's gun out from under the couch in the living room and go shoot her dad.

The point to that was that Veronica's down there hair was as dark as the Blatant Skank's, at least from the brief glimpse I got. And Magdalen's one of our roommates. I don't know if Magdalen's a guy or a girl. The traits of really big boobs, an Adam's Apple, hairy legs, and a mouth that Jose calls "pretty" sometimes really don't add up to a definitive gender. So I just have to avoid using pronouns when talking about Magdalen.

The Blatant Skank has managed to wrap the blanket around her lower body—despite the fact that Linc's laying on most of it—and put her sweater back on. The sweater's a baby blue color and doesn't have any holes in it that I can see. Her hair's also trapped in the collar, and she flicks it free as she glares at me. "What're you doing in here, sicko?"

"Sleeping." Lincoln won't let me sleep out in the living room, not even when he's got a girl over. Not since Magdalen and Jose had their last big fight two weeks ago and Magdalen pulled the gun out from under the couch and tried to shoot him. Magdalen had been very, very wasted and probably would've hit me on accident if I hadn't stolen the bullets a couple of days before when I discovered the gun. Guns make me queasy.

"What? You just laid out your sleeping bag and camped out in here all night? You sick fuck!"

"One of our roommates is a belligerent drunk. I have to sleep in here, with the door locked, every night. It's not like I wanted to see you sleeping naked in my spot. You'd better not have gotten something gross like crabs in the bed."

Her bony face crinkled up in a look of absolute disgust, and she started inching away from Lincoln. Unfortunately, since he had most of the blanket pinned under him, she had to forfeit its cover. Luckily, her sweater was just long enough to hide everything. "Ew! You two sleep together?"

"When he doesn't have skanks in his bed."

"I can't believe I…"

"Both of you were plastered. Studies show that excess amounts of alcohol lower peoples' inhibitions. As long as the two of you used a condom, there's nothing for you to feel worried about."

From the look on her face, it was obvious they hadn't. Figures. I go through all the hassle of buying condoms from the gas station down the street and sneaking one into Lincoln's wallet every night, and he doesn't even use it. I'm going to be very annoyed if my brother gets the clap from the Blatant Skank.

I fold my arms over my chest and glare at her. "I'm going to need your name and address."

"Why?"

"Either tell or I'll dig your driver's license out of your purse and find out for myself. You don't want me to do that—I might find tampons or something. Tampons make me cry." Not really, no, unless they're on fire, but that's only because they release this really horrible stench when you burn them. Veronica and I got really bored on day and spent a good hour sitting on the fire escape, setting a box of her tampons on fire, and throwing them at the cars of people we didn't like in the building.

"Lisa Fochs. 1218 Pinetrace Terrace." A pretty upscale address but I figured it would be given her nice, pretty sweater and the designer label on the pair of blue jeans crumpled at the foot of the bed. She'd probably bumped into Lincoln looking for drugs. It'd happened before. "And again, why?"

"Because if you've given him HIV or something, I will hunt you down and kill you."

She laughed ironically at my threat. "Oh, great, not only can I not find my underwear, but I've got a homo's little gay boyfriend threatening to murder me."

"I put your panties in your purse, and Lincoln's not my boyfriend, he's my brother."

Ms. Blatant a.k.a. Lisa Fochs froze with one leg in her jeans and one leg not. "Ew! Just…ew! Sick fuck does not even begin to describe the two of you." Suddenly, she was a burst of speed: pulling up her pants, snagging her purse from by my feet, and scurrying out of the room without so much as even a "good-bye and thanks for getting my undies off the ceiling fan".

I sighed and stretched, leaning my back up against the wall. On the bed, Linc grunted and rolled over to take his turn glaring at me. "Did you have to do that?"

"Me? Do something?"

"You neglected to mention that you've got colder hands than a girl and that when you sleep on the bed, it's in that sleeping bag. Damn it—she was a nice piece of ass."

"She was shallower than the draft on a raft and homophobic," I countered.

"So you let her think we're fucking? My luck, she's gonna tell someone and then it's gonna be all over the neighborhood that I'm doing my own little brother. Sick don't even begin to describe it." He buried his face in the pillow.

"What're you worried about? We're never going to see her again."

Ok, so even I'm wrong from time to time.


End file.
